But he didn’t. He just stared as she turned. From the back she was completely naked. And he stood there enjoying the sight until she had disappeared through the swinging door of the kitchen. Then he finally did sit down. To the best of his knowledge he had never had supper, or any other meal for that matter, with a naked or nearly naked woman. Maybe he’d sat in bed with one and gnawed on a steak bone or had a piece of cake on a saucer, but he’d never sat down at the table with a lady dressed, or undressed, as she was. He was not at all certain he would be able to eat.
And then she came back through the kitchen door carrying a pitcher of iced tea. She sat down and gave him a bright smile while he stared at her. She said, “Now Marshal, don’t be bashful. Just help yourself.”
In a husky voice he said, “Ma’am, I sure wish you meant that the way I want it to be meant.”
She smiled and started piling his plate with fried chicken. “Well, you just come back from your mission knowing what you have waiting for you, and then we’ll have a talk and maybe you can have anything you want for supper.”
He said, his voice still hoarse, “Shirley, you got any idea what you’re doing to me?”
She was putting coleslaw on his plate. She said, “Of course I have an idea of what I am doing to you. I was a married woman, remember?”
“Then more the shame for you,” he said.
“Bah … I know what your plans are, mister. They just didn’t work out the way you wanted them to. I have my own plans. You’re a very appealing man, Marshal Long. You have a good future. You have a good job. You’re just the kind of man that I could set my cap for if there wasn’t so much danger in your job. But I think that you’ve got enough time in the marshal service that you could have some of that danger taken out of your life.”
He didn’t like that. “Shirley, I don’t come with conditions. There ain’t no lead ropes on me. You don’t see any halter around my head.”
She leaned over until her breasts were almost touching her own empty plate. She said, “I’m open to compromise. Like I say, when you come back we’ll talk about it. Now eat your supper.”
it was undoubtedly the strangest meal that Longarm had ever tried to eat. The food was wonderful but he couldn’t taste it. It seemed that all of his senses were concentrated in his eyes, which were glued to Shirley Dunn’s beautiful breasts. He ate mechanically, never taking his eyes off her. He never knew if he had a mouthful of coleslaw, or mashed potatoes, or fried chicken. She served peach cobbler for dessert and asked him if he wanted cream on top. He didn’t know his answer, and he didn’t know if he had cream on top or not. When the meal was mercifully over they sat back down on the couch, which was even worse. For now he had a full view of her slender shapely legs. And every now and then a brief glimpse of the silken patch that was hidden by the crinkly apron. She had kept on her green slippers, and they even added to the seductiveness of the figure she cast. He had two more drinks, barely conscious of what he was doing. They talked. She asked him questions about the marshal service and his job. He answered. Sometimes he knew what he was saying, but most times he didn’t. When the clock struck ten he got up and put on his hat. She walked him only partway to the door, then put her mouth up to be kissed. He kissed her long and lingeringly, but he kept his hands strictly on the smooth creamy skin of her back.
As he started to the door she said, “Just remember, I’ll be waiting when you get back.”
He said, “I’m gonna be remembering that you said that I could have anything for supper I wanted.”
She smiled sweetly. “Under certain conditions.”
He nodded. He had an idea what those conditions were and already his mind was scheming, thinking of a way around them, around whatever barriers she might put up, that would allow him to get to that luscious body.
He went out the door backwards, making sure that he had a good full vision of her to carry him all the way to San Angelo, Texas, and back.
Once out into the night air, he shook his head and said to himself, “I feel like I’ve been whipped with a wagon tongue and then dragged about ten miles.” In truth, part of his body was convinced that another part had ceased functioning. He walked straight to his nearest favorite saloon and contented himself with a game of poker and more whiskey. But try as he would he couldn’t keep his mind on the game, and ended up losing forty dollars— an almost unheard-of occurrence for him in such a low-stakes game.
But walking back to his boardinghouse that night, he got to thinking his situation over, and after a time he began to laugh. The woman had neatly turned the tables on him. He had gone there with one thing and one thing only on his mind. She had known it and what she had done was call his hand and raise the ante, letting him have just enough of a peek at his hole card to make him want to continue the game even more.
Thinking on the whole evening, he decided that it was about as clever a performance he had ever run up against. The woman wasn’t just as pretty as a speckled pup, she was pretty damned smart on top of that. He reckoned when he got back, they might have some pretty good times sparring around. He had no more intention of getting married or getting serious than he’d ever had. He knew that was her intention and that she had no plans to end up his plaything. It would be curious to see if they could find some middle ground where they could meet. He got to his boardinghouse and went upstairs with a smile on his face. He was even more anxious than ever to get to San Angelo, get his business done, and get back here to the Widow Dunn.
After a long, hot, tiring journey, the train finally pulled into San Angelo, Texas. For the last eight hours, since six that morning, he had had a good view of the baking plains of west Texas. He got off the train wondering just how many people in the place had actually ever seen a tree, or a stream of clear running water. But that was none of his affair. They wanted to live in such a place—he was glad that someone was willing. For his part, he’d have rented the whole shooting match out to Mexico for a price of one dollar a year, and if they drove a hard bargain, he’d come down from that.
He walked back along the platform toward the freight Part of the train. He’d brought two horses—a gentle mare that he figured to use around town and a big rawboned chestnut that could go all day just in case he had to do some hard riding over the rough countryside. He had his saddlebags over his shoulders. They were mainly loaded with his extra .44-caliber Colt revolver, several boxes of ammunition, and five bottles of Maryland whiskey that he had brought with him from Denver, knowing full well that he’d find nothing but rotgut in San Angelo. He carried in his hand a small valise with a few changes of clothes and some fresh socks. Longarm didn’t see the point of underwear in the summer. It was his opinion that, under the right circumstances, it would just slow a man down.
